


A sweet touch of nothing

by nekolion



Series: The Omega's Chronicles [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Keith (Voltron), Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Beta Allura (Voltron), Beta Hunk (Voltron), Blind Lance (Voltron), M/M, Omega Lance (Voltron), Omega Verse, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-18 16:41:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9394079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekolion/pseuds/nekolion
Summary: When the omega population decreases, things don’t go to well for them and Lance knows it.  After all, he isn’t just a regular Omega; he’s a blind one.Being abandoned at a brothel only makes him wish for things to be better. It doesn’t help though that an Anti-Omega movement has succeeded. But with the help of his closest friends, it is time change be made to make the world brighter.





	1. Prologue

Prologue

Nine years. 

It has been nine years since the International Anti-Omega Movement happened. At estimate, over a thousand attacks have devastated the Omega population, leaving behind only a pitiful handful surviving.  
In the time it took for this genocide to come into fruition, every Alpha involved refused to take responsibility, let alone acknowledge or atone for this mess. As a result, every remaining Omega, despite being human nonetheless, were left with their rights deeply violated and to spend the rest of their days in deplorable, primitive conditions. This would only serve to favor the Alphas.  
From the very beginning of this movement, those who represented the Omegas were taken down. Among them were Alfor Altea and his wife, the Garcia-Valdéz family, Samuel Holt, Biago Isolda, the Soleria-Palacios family and Lady Clarisse, as well as many who sympathized with the Omegas.  
It isn’t to say that not all Alphas agreed with this movement. Some were willing to risk the luxuries of their lives for the sake of restoring balance between Alphas, Betas and Omegas.  
It isn’t to say that there is not any hope left. Because there is.  
To the remaining Omegas, it can only be asked that they keep their chins up and spirits high. Changing times are coming.

-+-+-+-

“After all these years and you still make the same stupid mistakes. I can't believe I’ve been willing to allow you to stay with me.” A calm but rough voice complained, putting Lance on edge. “Since day one, you’ve been nothing but useless. Look, I’ve had enough. It’s time I have gotten rid of you.”  
“P-please don’t.” Lance pleaded in a low voice, almost a whisper. He could feel it. He could feel fear drowning his senses to the point he didn’t notice the strange scent Zarkon was emanating. “I promise I’ll be good.” Lance cried. Without realizing it, his eyes began to sting while his cheeks streamed fresh tears.  
Life before Zarkon was something he just didn’t want to return to; it was unbearable, it was homeless and it was without any compassion. Lance had no one left. He had no one to turn to. He had no one feel okay with. He spent his days being violated and his nights crying. He spent his time trying to forget what it meant to be alive. He spent every ounce of energy trying to survive, and for what? A world where he can only beg at the mercy of whatever Alpha would look at him while he and whatever stray Omega he crossed could barely get by? All he had was himself and a world full of darkness, both literally and figuratively.  
Because really, what good is a blind Omega?  
At this point, the most recent Alpha who took interest in Lance was Zarkon, and even then, that interest was at its thinnest.  
“Good?” Zarkon asked sarcastically. Irritated, he ended the discussion right then and there. Zarkon got up from his favorite chair and strode towards the door, leaving behind the measly apartment that he got Lance out of pity.  
To Lance, this was about survival. Just suck it up, apologize, and make things right so he wouldn’t be out on the streets again, or worse. In a desperate attempt to appease Zarkon, Lance blindly stumbled around, his feet knocking repeatedly into various furniture before accidently bumping a decorative table, causing the vase on top to fall over and shatter. It was the sound of helpless commotion that made Zarkon stopped. It was the silence that made Lance believe that maybe Zarkon would stay and help him just a little longer.  
It was a malicious laugh that broke the silence. And it was the same twisted chuckle that both broke Lance’s heart a little more, as well as humiliate himself even further.  
“You see,” Zarkon stated, “Oh wait. You can’t. Lance, you are nothing. The one thing worse than an Omega is a useless Omega. I mean for God’s sake, I’ve seen blind Alphas that move around better than you. But you Lance? You are nothing. You are nothing.” Clutching the golden door knob, Zarkon left.  
This can’t be happening, was the only phrase that echoed in Lance’s skull. I can’t leave. Nine years ago, his life came to a screeching halt because of the Anti-Omega Movement. Nine years ago, Lance watched everything he ever loved and cared about be stripped away. Nine years ago, Lance found himself barely surviving, and even then he only managed to last a little longer because of Zarkon.  
Without Zarkon, the only place Lance has left are those sordid brothels. The only place that worthless Omegas like himself can find some work in. In these days, those very same brothels are the only kinds of hangouts that Omegas are even found in more so because every time Lance even listens to a second of the news, all he hears is the repeated violence committed against those of his kind.  
When Lance hears the news, he always hears the same thing.  
He hears how Allura Altea, Roy Arusian and Rax Balmera trying to restore some semblance of order in this whole Alpha-Beta-Omega world. He hears how Arusian, being a Beta, is more or less indifferent to the opposition of the Anti-Omega Movement while Altea is using him as a crutch to maintain opposition. To Lance, it isn’t politics advocating for him. It’s just bullshit. Pure, Grade-A straight from the asshole Alpha in charge bullshit.  
These business mans and politicians had nine years to kill the movement and within those nine years, all Lance went through were every single circle in the bottomless pits of hell.  
Lance didn’t have any hope in these business mans and politicians. The abusive relationship he had endured with Zarkon was not hope. The only thing he had close to “hope” was that somewhere, his sister was looking for him.  
But that was only a dream.  
Without Zarkon, Lance would only have two options, in which both would kill him. On one hand, he could die on the streets. On the other, he could die wasting away in an Alpha brothel. Neither of the fates were pleasant and Lance knew from the bottom of his heart that whatever path he would be forced to crawl, it would take him further away from ever finding his family again.  
Some days, the silence was pleasant to Lance. Zarkon wasn’t greatest, but he did provide Lance with the essentials. There were days where Zarkon loved Lance and there were days where Zarkon just saw him as this flaw. And maybe Lance believed that was what a healthy relationship.  
Today was one of those days that the silence was unwelcomed. Because the sinking feeling that Lance will never be able to feel Zarkon’s touch or hear his gruff voice again was becoming a reality now.  
By now, the tears stopped flowing. They dried on his cheeks. But it didn’t take away the salty taste left on Lance’s lips, nor did it take away the burn in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the first chapter of the series "The Omega's Chronicles".  
> Originally this fic began as a small AU but it was enough information and plot to make a fic. As the tags say this will be a Shance fic, though in this first part of the series this ship will not be the main focus, it will make it at the end and the next parts.  
> I'll try to update every one or two weeks.  
> Also this is the only chapter that is edited, the next ones will be not (as my editor/beta reader didn't gave me the edition of chapter one and it's been two weeks since she said it was done) so if anyone wants to be a beta reader please go to my Tumblr and send me a message  
> This is all for now. See you next chapter  
> Tumblr-> galraneko , nekolion


	2. What I want to hide

Chapter 1 – What I want to hide

 

Today was just like any other day for Hunk. He clocks in at work. He receives the proper documentation from his superiors. And then he reaches the rendezvous point. From there, he meets his collaborators and acquires the “packages,” to be brought back to the brothel. In hind sight, this was human trafficking but the world wasn’t pretty and although Hunk should be ashamed of it, so too could the murders, the rapists, the child molesters, the drug lords and the thieves that lined the damned neighborhood be ashamed as well.

 

At least in Hunk’s case, he goes the extra mile for these packages. He makes sure they are properly clothed. He makes sure that they have been fed. He makes sure that they were given the medications they needed (no, not drugged and sedated like his managers expect, _actual_ medications that they need in order to survive). He even makes sure that they have his contact in case if anything ever gets too rough at the brothel, he can assist them (even if this goes against management’s wishes because, fuck being a Beta, these people _were still people)._ This would go to whatever Alpha, Beta, or Omega came his way.

The phone conversation wasn’t long. All Hunk had to do was glance at the paper, find the proper address and coordinates, call his collaborator and arrive on time when the authorities weren’t looking, which to be fairly honest, they rarely if not ever look in neighborhoods like this. There weren’t many draw backs to Hunk’s job; he was good at picking up packages. He was good at making sure they got to the brothel. And ever since Hunk came to the brothel looking for employment, the omegas showed greater resilience and more positivity in their line of shitty life thanks to Hunk. If he misses a deliver, which wasn’t often, Hunk had nothing to lose. If a package proves to be too troublesome, management would simply dispose of the package (how you may ask, Hunk doesn’t know, nor does he desire to find out).

 

It was a simple job, and in a world where the Alphas thrive, the Omegas die and the Betas barely strive, this was an okay arrangement.

 

Hunk was fine. He wasn’t happy, but this was fine with him.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

One of Hunk’s biggest dreams was to cook. He was a big boy living in a big world. And in said big world, there were many countries, many places, many cultures and in those cultures, there were many foods that Hunk has always wanted to try.

 

Japanese, Thai, Venezualean, Morrocan, French, even Russian cuisine, they all were different, but to Hunk, life was more grand when you have a refined taste for things. Both literally, and figuratively. With that being said, it was the reason why he dedicated his life to cooking. As a child, he watched his mother create Chamorro foods such as chicken kelaguen and escabeche to other types like spam musubi (Hawaiian), adobo (Filipino) to even more complex ones like macarons (French pastries) and baklava (Greek).

 

Unfortunately, even when he managed to attain the title sous-chef at a swanky, high-end Alpha owned business, his love for food and his dream to cook took on bigger priorities than what Alphas demanded of him. In turn, this is what got him fired, and blacklisted as a shitty cook. Even at the brothel, despite being a hard worker, it is seldom that management would even let Hunk come close to the bar, let alone the kitchen in the brothel.

 

Hunk did deliveries, but not living his dreams anymore. It was stable but underhanded, lucrative but not worthwhile. At the brothels, Hunk wasn’t in the worst of positions (because really, he doesn’t go to work against his will and wellbeing, only to go to bedsmelling like shame, sin, and tequila because he is too busy being an assistant to the Alpha workers as well as the Alpha patrons).

 

If anything, it was this job and this job alone that made Hunk open his eyes just a little wider. It was the suffering that he both saw and brought upon the Omegas that made him see things more compassionately; hell that was how he was fated to meet Shay, after all.

 

The reason why Hunk got fired from his last job was due to an argument with the master chef (he had to be a damned Alpha of course) over preparations made for a meatloaf (something Hunk actually disliked). Maybe it was stress, maybe it was the lack of Omegas and their weird pheromones that kept Betas like him in line, or maybe it was because Hunk simply did not like the asshole. Whatever sparked the fight (oh wait, Hunk remembers; the master chef was accusing Hunk of messing up the order and Hunk actually stood up for himself), it resulted in Hunk throttling the guy by surprise, winning the fight despite getting a black eye, and getting kicked out of a five star restaurant.

 

To Hunk, cooking went from his dream profession to a side hobby at home while during the day, he became the pusher to send a sex worker to their doom.

 

To Hunk, losing his dream and finding stability in this mess taught him one thing.

 

This world, ran by Alphas, was a piece of shit.

 

At the very least, Shay appreciated his cooking.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

The place was a cesspool. Garbage littered everywhere. The stank of weed, expired alcohol and rotting filth burnt Hunk’s nose as if his very presence was unwelcomed and that was he were to be greeted. He wasn’t too sure if the address on his phone matched the very same one he was standing at, but after a second look over on the papers, Hunk finally got out of his car.

 

Wait.

 

Before Hunk closed the door, something caught his eyes on the papers.

 

“ _Caretaker – Hunk Garret._ ” Reading that simple statement was like a bombshell to Hunk. He has never been an Omega’s caretaker before. Picking up Omegas as packages was one thing, but to be assigned to them personally, this was not normal. Not in Hunk’s standards at least. Hunk sighed once more.

 

This will be a first

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

Of all the neighborhoods that this collaborator could have picked, this was just a bad one. Hunk has picked up more tricks and packages from better places than this dump. Turning to his right, he saw a sign to a beaten up store, the sign reading Olkari Goods. Hunk took a better look around. As a drizzle began, he felt his cheeks get pelted. The other stores appeared worse for wear, and Hunk decided that Olkari Goods appeared to be the nicest thing here.

 

Just breathe, the big guy thought, just breathe and deal with it.

 

Time to get that package.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

The thing about the brothel was that every day, Hunk would hear the Omegas scream. Sometimes, they were screams of pleasures. Other times, and this would happen more than the Beta would like, would be screams of agony, screams where the Omegas would be suffering but would keep their mouths shut if they wanted to continue living. They didn’t have any other choices.

 

In the end, they could only scream, because that was all they can do.

 

These kinds of screaming, one that was full of ache and resistance, was what Hunk heard when he worked up the nerve to enter the apartment complex his collaborator requested.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

Lance woke himself up again. During the nights where he would be home alone, he would sleep talk. Sometimes, he would sleep talk quietly. But during the rougher dreams, the ones where Zarkon would hit him, or humiliated him, or simply took advantage of him, he’d scream. He’d scream so loud that he’d wake himself up. The Omega would jolt up, feeling his throat claw at him like a dying lion’s last pathetic roar, and he would feel his lips dry as water and saliva would try to fix his body’s unreasonable response to these nightmares.

 

Just as usual; Lance woke up to darkness. The only thing different this time, was that he had a bad feeling. The feeling that Zarkon wasn’t going to come back. That he wasn’t going to take back his words and make Lance his.

 

He woke up the lull of a silent ringing that danced around his ears. He could faintly hear the hum of the pipes in the walls. But then, he heard something unusual.

 

Something not normal. A distinct pheromone suddenly became apparent.

 

The blind Omega could hear something pick at the locks on his apartment door. Discarding his blanket, Lance left his hands to search for somethingto cover himself. He was bare, only wearing old tattered pajama pants and nothing else. He was searching for a shirt. When the lock gave one last click and the door creaked open with squeak, Lance jumped back, shutting his door.

 

It wasn’t Zarkon who had entered his apartment. Lance could smell an unknown scent within his home.

 

A Beta broke into his home. What the fuck? On the one hand, Lance was relieved; Betas were not much of a threat, but on the other, he was disappointed.

 

This was proof that Zarkon meant what he said. That he didn’t want Lance anymore. Maybe he wasn’t coming back…

 

On the third hand, if Lance could state that, was that this was very perplexing. Just _why_ is this Beta invading his messy home? Wasting no time, Lance tried to quietly search for something hard in blunt in his room. Betas weren’t much of a threat but whatever this one’s intentions were, Lance wasn’t going down without a fight.

 

His hands found a pair of scissors, sharp, with a point that felt too finely defined for Lance; scissors weren’t blunt, but they would have to do, Lance thought.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

Hunk had had this job for three years, and in those three years, he has had a variety of experiences.

 

Most of which, where bad.

 

Very little of which, were good.

 

Finding another uncooperative and frightened Omega usually finds their place on one of his more bad experiences. The Omega steadied himself; his weapon of choice, scissors, were pointed towards Hunk, but he was waiting, as if only readying to strike in defense.

 

This was very reminiscent of his first pick up, where his first solo delivery involved finding his package left in a dank alleyway, lips caked in vomit and it apparent that she had overdosed on tranquilizer (this was also the first delivery that Hunk botched up because he took her to the nearest emergency room instead of taking her back to the brothel where the more experienced workers could have resuscitated her). His second worst experience picking up a package involved him being an assistant when his Alpha co-worker got overwhelmed; how where they supposed to know that the collaborator had left out the knowledge that this Omega in particular used to be a trained fighter? That delivery didn’t go so well considering that Hunk watched the outraged Alpha shoot his assailant in the knee.

 

That Omega didn’t last long.

 

This experience, right here and right now, is placing one of Hunk’s really bad experiences. He had five seconds to see a broken vase on the floor, dishes and papers scattered around the apartment and fingerprints on the mirror in the hall. He saw some of the wallpaper shedding, and the blinds haphazardly turned down to block out the outside.

 

And then, his remaining time was focused on the terrified Omega, whose face was scratched up and whose hands were stained red from gripping the bladed part of a pair scissors. Hunk stepped forward, and the Omega took two steps back, flinching. This didn’t go unnoticed by Hunk. Hunk then looked down towards the floor beneath the Omega, seeing that his feet were a little swollen, with small lacerations on them. Another flinch, and the Omega faltered, falling over to the ground.

 

The moment Hunk stepped again, hands reaching out to help up the Omega, his only reply were a sharp weapon being aimed at him so that the Omega could protect himself.

 

“Calm down!” Hunk pleaded.

 

“What the fuck, don’t tell me to calm down!” the Omega barked back. He got up again, taking a stance towards Hunk, hands now aiming low as they clutched the scissors like a sword. This Omega is a fighter and he wasn’t going to go easily. Hunk sighed.

 

Not again.

 

The Omega backed himself into the walls of the apartment. He was trapped. He was trapped in his own home, and the darkness that clouded his eyes wouldn’t make this easy. Lance could feel his cuts, both on his hands and his feet, throbbing, begging him to give up. And although his instincts told him to just go with the Beta, just give up, his will did not.

 

He has to wait for Zarkon, right? He might come back.

 

This was what Lance placed his hope in.

 

“Please, don’t make me hurt you.” Hunk tried again.

 

“Fuck you! I’m not going”

 

The Beta took a good look at this Omega’s eyes. Despite the pheromone that he was radiating (along with the wrath), Hunk noticed something very peculiar about this Omega’s eyes.

 

He realized that the collaborator (like most) left out another piece of information in the process of abandoning this package; this Omega was angry and blind. Hunk then saw some envelopes on the counter he was crouching on; most of them were addressed to a Zarkon Drule.

 

“Are you Zarkon?”

 

Then and there, Hunk just realized he said the wrong name. The minute the last syllable left his lips, the Omega shuddered, and a heartbroken sob crawled out his throat.

 

“Lance, right?”

 

“Get out!”at the shout, Hunk jumped back, equally defensive now.

 

“Please!”

 

“No!” the stubborn Omega (whose fighting spirit was very much Alpha-like) cried.

 

“I’m sorry.” Hunk blurted. That was the most unconventional thing Hunk could say at the moment. Apologize to the package in spite of trying to do his job. But for some reason, it made the Omega stop in his tracks.

 

“I’m not going, I’m not going.” Lance repeated.

 

“I…I want to help. Help you, Lance.”

 

“What the fucking fuck, man?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You break into my house, and for what, to help me?”

 

“Umm, yes?”

 

“Again, fuck you! You’re not an Alpha, you’re not _my_ Alpha, and you have no place telling me what to do!” Lance shouted back. “I’m not going anywhere, not unless Zarkon tells me to.”

 

Hunk winced at that insult.

 

What did those notes say, Hunk thought, trying to remember.

 

Oh yeah. It was a document made by Rolo. An abused Omega, has major Stockholm syndrome, in love with his abuser and all that messiness. This wasn’t new to Hunk. Omegas with bad lives either becomes slaves sold off to collaborators for the brothels or they get beaten to death by their Alphas. This wasn’t new at all. This was something that was too commonplace. This was something that was inhumane.

 

This was the very something that made Hunk want to take care of every package he had to pick up, because these were the somethings that made his heartache with this job.

 

It became a standoff. Hunk kept his eyes focused on Lance, waiting for him to move. Was he going to strike again? Or was he going to flee? Hunk took a gentle breath, aware that he wasn’t going to leave without Lance but still.

 

A minute had passed when suddenly, Hunk became very much aware of Lance’s breath becoming hitched. The jaded eyes, the ones with a stunning shade of blue, began to form tiny streams of tears.

 

Lance was crying.

 

“If you won’t come with me, can I at least bandage your cuts?”

 

This made the blind Omega snap his head towards Hunk as if it were the most threatening move to glare back at him.

 

 “Why?”

 

 

“I…I get that you don’t go. But, I can’t just leave you here. And I can’t just look at your injuries and think ‘that’s okay, let him hurt himself some more as he tries to protect himself.’I get that you don’t want to go Lance, but you and I don’t exactly have a lot of choices here. Please, Lance, let me-“

 

“Don’t call me Lance.” Lance interrupted.

 

“Just let me bandage you up. Please.”

 

The blind Omega was still crying. The streams became rivers and the eyes shined like vacant pearls but Lance was very much aware of where Hunk was, even with the bearing of his emotions. Lance then eased his grip on his weapon, before letting the scissors clatter against the wooden floor.Lance sunk down onto his knees, face etched with fatigue and emotional damage.

 

Prior to retrieving any package, Hunk would keep a first aid kit with him. More often than not, his packages would need some form of help before he brought them to the brothel. Hunk left his in the hallways of the apartment complex as he tried to pick the lock earlier, and with Lance being more compliant, he went to go fetch it. Grabbing his bag, Hunk first went to the sink to wash his hands before getting settled next to Lance, who was now shaking a little. Opening the kit, Hunk grabbed the antibacterial gel, the gauze and the dressing he needed.

 

He pressed the gauze, cradling Lance’s hands with his huge ones, pressing down to stop the bleeding. That earned him a painful yelp from Lance. After a few minutes, the bleeding in the right hand stopped. Using clean cotton balls, Hunk dabbed some antibacterial gel over the slice. Again, Lance yelped helplessly but stayed on the ground. Hunk watched him bite his lower lip. When Hunk felt it was cleaned enough, he placed one last pad of gauze over the cuts before using adherent wrap and dressing to help cover the wound. Lance wouldn’t need stitches but the cuts were going to take time to heal.

 

“Lance, I’m really sorry.”

 

Lance was still crying, but he turned his head towards Hunk’s voice.

 

“It’s…it’s fine.”

 

Now it was Lance’s turn to be confused. He didn’t understand why this Beta was being nice to him. Most Betas just stayed out of Alpha-Omega business, and most the time, they came and went like nothing bothered them. But this one was being nice. Genuinely nice, even though Lance knew he came to take him to the brothels.

 

“If you’re going to take me there…wherever there is, just…I don’t know, just make it quick.”

 

“I know you don’t want to go.”

 

“I’m being punished. I just want to get this over with.”

 

To Hunk, the tone was so defeated. It was like every Omega he had dealt with. Fall into a toxic relationship, suffer, and then go to a brothel when the Alpha got bored with you. To Hunk, Betas had it easier; they work, they go to school, they live their lives, find another Beta and settle into a routine before dying while at the same time trying to avoid much of the conflict between Alphas and Omegas.

 

To Hunk, he turned to hug Lance sweetly.

 

“Do you think I want to hurt you?”

 

“Yes.” Lance replied.

 

“I won’t.”

After a good half hour, Hunk got up to toss away the bloody materials he used to help Lance. Hunk got up, and he scavenged a few drawers and cabinets. In the book shelf that was within the living room area, Hunk found what he was looking for; a medical file. Finding that it contained Lance’s information, from full name and nationality, to blood type and medical history, it contained enough for Hunk to cross-reference his documents; but the last name McClain, that stuck with Hunk. To him, it sounded familiar. Where had he heard that surname? Hunk pushed the thought away, determine to figure that out later. He found the right Omega to take back.

 

“I promise you Lance, I’ll do whatever I can to help you when you get there.” Hunk stated. He was met with silence.

 

“Right.” Lance finally said.

 

“I can’t make this any less painful for you, but I’ll try.” Hunk reassured.

 

The two settled into Hunk’s dented up car, a brilliant yellow Mustang that Hunk has had for years. The drizzle became rain and the sky gotten grimmer. Hunk was running late, but that didn’t really matter right now. None of Hunk’s past delivers were a joy ride.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

The drive to the brothel was far, and by now, Hunk was about two hours away. By now, he was _really_ late, but nonetheless, Lance took priority; they went and got food, Hunk’s treat. As they swerved through traffic, the deafening chatter of the DJs on the radio and relentless pop trash couldn’t silence the awkward quiet tension between the two.

 

Every couple of seconds, Lance would either take a solemn heave of his breath, or make some gesture at his shirt’s collar like he wanted to say something. Lance knew his place, however. He knew that a good Omega was a quiet one, one that learnt to only speak when spoken to, so without Hunk addressing him, Lance kept his trapper shut and his opinion to himself.

 

On his good days, Zarkon would allow Lance to speak. Sometimes they would speak of the weather, or how each other’s days were, or what Lance loved about the man. On those days, Lance would speak his mind until he was content with every word out of his system. It was one of those good days that Lance was able to meet Zarkon five years ago. It was one of those good days that he’d take Lance out, to the streets, to the city, to wherever he chose, and he’d describe all that he saw to Lance.Those were nice days, because sometimes, Zarkon would allow him to speak and he would simply speak even if was met with disinterested silence from his lover, or met with a surprisingly debatable response.

 

But on his bad days, which most the time, were most days, Lance would be smacked for even saying a word. Those were the days where the man would come home, his shoulders slacked with irritation and with some kind of burden that seemed too much for the man to deal with so he would deal with it by hitting Lance. On those days, Lance wouldn’t even try to approach the man; the routine boiled down to him getting dinner ready, the door open, and whatever Zarkon commanded, he would do it without uttering a sound. Sometimes, even a wrong glance, a wrong angle that Lance would turn his head at would make Zarkon strike him.

 

Like a caged bird, whose wings were aching to spread but useless to fly, and with a throat that had long ago sang joyously but no longer does, Lance learned to obey silently. That included not talking in the car unless spoken to. That’s what Zarkon instilled in him.

 

Feeling the awkward becoming too much, Hunk spoke up.

 

“What’s on your mind, Lance?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Okay.”

 

It wasn’t in Hunk to pry for answers. He knew how these rides would go; don’t discuss past, don’t discuss future, don’t discuss personals, just information about the brothel and only information that wouldn’t hurt the brothel. That was protocol for Hunk.

 

But this Omega. This one in particular.

 

It took leaving that hideous apartment complex for Hunk to realize that maybe he should call off the deliver. That maybe, he should report back to management empty handed, saying that the collaborator gave false intel and when Hunk arrived, there was no one to take to the brothel.

 

After all, that was how he met Shay years ago. The only thing stopping him was that the brothel, which was controlled by the Galra, were also after Shay. Should Hunk hide Lance away, he’d eventually face investigation by his employers and soon risk losing Shay alongside Lance.

 

It was easier this way. Between the two, Hunk knew Shay. Hunk loved Shay. Hunk would protect Shay at the cost of his own life. And if that meant making Lance expendable, it was such shitty move but Hunk would do it for Shay, he would sacrifice a pawn like Lance if it meant the survival of his queen.

 

A frustrated and defeated sigh crawled out of Lance’s throat before the Omega decided to get some shut eye.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

There was a sweet smell wafting the air. It was aromatic. The smell of cinnamon and a hint of chocolate, and it always induced a warm feeling in Lance. Whenever Lance fell asleep, this was always a reoccurring dream. The dream would go in a weird sequence that was always predictable but no matter how often Lance had this dream, it still gave him an array of feelings.

 

The first part was simple. After smelling the sweet smell of cinnamon and chocolate, he would feel a warm hand on his shoulder. It would shake him lightly, urging him to awaken. Was it possible to fall asleep in a dream, and then awaken in said dream? Whatever the mechanics to the dream realm were, this was exactly how Lance went through this.

 

It always starts in some distant vacation that he and his family went to in another lifetime. He would simply bury his face deeper into the pillows, deeper into the sheets, just too comfortable and too at ease to simply “wake up.” It was a holiday vacation, during a time when school wasn’t in session. He was eleven at the time. Like any other ten year-old, sleep was important. He didn’t want to wake up.

 

That familiar scent that always started this dream, it was how his mother smelt. She would always smell like cinnamon and chocolate, smelling like the kitchen because of all the places she could be, that was the place that made her the happiest.

 

“Time to wake up, mijo.” She’d say. Lance longs to hear that voice again. He longs for it, not just in his dreams, but every damn day.

 

Why does he need to wake up?

 

“Five more minutes, mama,” the Omega whined.

 

It was then his mother would start singing. The thing about having a big family was that everyone had their “thing.” His older sister was morning people, so when the sun rose, she rose too. His younger sister, like Lance himself, was not, so his mother tried different things to get them up. For some, it was simply bribing them with food. For others, it simply was yanking off the blankets.

 

But for Lance, it was singing. His mother would start a soft hum, her tone endearing, and she would slowly crescendo to a higher octave. She sang like little robin, her playfulness becoming more and more defined as she sang. Back then, every morning, the song would change. How many songs, Lance couldn’t recall. It always amazed him how many songs his mother did know. But that was his thing.

 

To sing, was the wake-up call to finally urge Lance up.

 

And then the singing would stop.

 

“Cariño, por favor. Tenemos que ir a la conferencia de…”

 

A conference would be taking place now. This wasn’t a vacation, but rather a meeting. An important meeting concerning Omegas like young Lance. Hearing that statement immediately woke Lance up, earning his attention.

 

This dream always went this way all the time. What should have been a pleasant dream instead was a reoccurring reminder to let Lance know exactly when his world had took a dive for the worst.

 

Of all the cruel things that Lance could deal with, seeing in his dreams was one of those things. How is it, that in his sleep, his eyes saw endlessly, from the towering skyscrapers to Varadero Beach, to the colors that painted the trees and flowers to the words which danced and curled on every sign and sheet of paper like art itself. Yet, the most beautiful thing Lance would see would be his mother.

 

With little effort, Lance finally cracked his eyes open, only to his mother, her hair in a tight neat bun, with a beige blazer and a pencil skirt and a white blouse. With every sleep he has had, he always remembers her with this outfit. His mother, without fail, would always appear in his dreams wearing this business outfit, not something more casual, not something more familial to him. Yet, she still smelt of chocolate and cinnamon.

 

There was no longer time to relax in this place or this dream. If anything, there was no more time left. Despite the tired and fatigued look she wore, Lance smiled. It was here that he could admire her with a loving reverie once more.

 

Oh, what he would give to see her again.

 

That’s why this dream, despite its cruelty to make Lance see her again and again, he would refuse to awaken if it meant he could see her and his family once more.

 

Gradually, the room would morph. It was no longer the bedroom that Lance was laying in.It would become an office. He would be standing in his mother’s workplace. This office, Lance never really paid much attention to what was in it other than it being relatively cramped and the room that his mother had waited in prior to the conference. But in this dream, Lance would always see the calendar marked for August 17th; the day before his birthday. 

 

Normally, this would have meant nothing. Except this time, this day was important as it marked the Alpha-Beta-Omega Family Balance Conference. Back when everything was as close to normal as Lance could remember. Before that day, he couldn’t really remember a time when Alphas really were all that special and important. As the dream unfolds further, Lance can see the door to this office room open, his family filing in with exhausted and concerned expressions. His sisters were not smiling like they normally do. His dad keeping his mouth shut. His aunts and uncles, all who are normally loud and funny, were now tamed and in line. His grandparents, even his eldest sister’s fiancé, were there and were not happy at all. At the time, Lance didn’t understand why they were sad or scared, but now, during the era where the Alphas were given their throne, his parents were truly important to the Omega community.

 

Oh what he would give, what he would sacrifice to see his family again, and to see them all smiling again with him.

 

With a solemn expression, his mother would reach her hand out. She looked ready to cry. Her face was stained with tears. Lance would take her hand, despite the confusion. When he grabbed her hand, it felt cold and nothing like her at all. But she was still there.

 

This was still his mother.

 

“Wake up, Lance. Please, wake up.”

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

His eyes snapped open, wide and full of white panic. He couldn’t see anything but blurred darkness. He was awake. He was actually awake again. God, he hated it. He sat up, realizing that he was no longer in Hunk’s car, but a bed. The air was cold and stale, and suddenly the smell of a nervous Beta, one too close for Lance’s comfort, became apparent.

 

Lance understood that to some degree, Hunk was friendly but this, this was unnecessary.

 

Lance inched himself away, but instead of a disgruntled rebuttal, Hunk gave a relieved sigh.

 

“Thank God! You’re awake!” the Beta cheered, much to Lance’s bewilderment. As Hunk began to calm down, the smell of panic pheromones disseminated. Still, the tension remained. “For a moment, I thought…”

 

Hunk got off the bed, and Lance adjusted himself to a better sitting position. Lance remembered why Hunk was here. They were at the brothel now. There were no more need for tears right now. Hunk was doing his job, despite being pleasant. Lance had to accept this fate. He had to keep the emotions bottled and just make do with what cards are being dealt to him. The feelings of abandonment and fear lingered around him, like two black dogs that wouldn’t stray from his side, but he had to deal with it.

 

Betas were known to be compassionate individuals. They knew the right words to help a friend. They knew what to do in the face of justice without the impulse for violence. They knew what to do to make peace work, even if the end result would to become compliant followers to the Alphas. Betas knew, so in the face of suffering, they were strong and kind and their words would care over to console those in agony. But to Hunk, there was no need to further console Lance. Lance was here now. If Lance stayed, he would suffer the life of being a slave, but he would live. If Lance left…Hunk didn’t want to think about that anymore. In the worst way possible, this was the only thing Hunk could really do, was try to give Lance a new home off the streets and away from the Anti-Omega thugs who would kill him.

 

It was then, right here, that Hunk decided this would be his burden. Lance…Hunk didn’t know what it was about Lance but for him, Hunk will protect him as much as he could.

 

After a few minutes, Hunk went towards the door.

 

“Are you going to be okay?”

 

“I guess. This is my new home, right?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Go. Do your job.”

 

“Okay.”

 

These last conversations, they always saddened Hunk. It were these moments that most of the packages would cry, would scream, or fight, or argue, or go hysterical. But Lance just barely whispered his compliance.

 

Hunk shut the door. A lock had clicked from the outside.

 

After a moment, Lance placed his head back down on the stiff pillow, his aching heart lulling him back to slumber.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

“Wake up, Lance.”

 

The sweet and melodic voice that belong to his mother was urging him to awaken. As Lance’s eyes fluttered open, it was then he felt the voice change, the town and octave sinking as it became more masculine. 

 

“Wake up.”

 

This voice was gruffer, yet still somewhat kind.

 

Conscious sank in, and Lance realized that it was Hunk who was urging him to awaken. Hunk, the Beta. Lance remembers that. The same way that he remembers why he was here, in this hell-hole of a brothel. Lance stiffened at the nasty aftertaste in his mouth, knowing now that was he was prisoner here. But at the very least, it was Hunk. It was someone who he could let his guard down with, for the moment.

 

Just the last two days, Lance hasn’t had a moments rest yet, knowing that Hunk was kind, it was pleasant to feel his shoulders sag and relax.

 

“How are you feeling Lance?” Hunk asked.

 

As the Beta approached him, Lance yawned.

 

“I’m doing okay, I guess. What’s up?”

 

“I’m here to get you registered. It’s a standard procedure here at Empire Brothel. We need to get a medical evaluation first. Then after that, management will go over what is expected here.”

 

“Okay…” Lance replied. His voice was demure, holding back any opposition he felt. Hunk nodded.

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

Hunk slowly explained what this brothel was like.

 

To every room, it was assigned to an Omega. A cuff would be latched on to Lance, bounding him to the bed like an obedient dog, only to be released at the pleasure of an Alpha. Otherwise, he would stay boxed in, his freedom stripped of him like his modesty. Periodically, an Omega’s assigned Beta would take care of them, providing whatever feeding, cleaning, and grooming would be needed in order to keep the Omegas’ appeal lively.

 

To Lance, Hunk was a paradox. Although he was a Beta, Hunk wasn’t at all cruel. To Lance, he has had experiences with Betas who, through actions and words, were almost no different than their Alpha-counterparts. As Hunk guided Lance closer to the clinic room, he explained how most Betas were assigned to at least one or two Omegas, and most were, at best, either neutral to their Omega wards, or at worst, just as relentless as the Alphas here.

 

“Hunk?”

 

“Yes, Lance?”

 

“Is there any way you can be my caretaker?”

 

Hunk paused. He stopped in the middle of the corridor. Lance was facing his direction, face neutral but waiting for an answer.

 

“If everything goes right, I might be assigned to you as a caretaker. That’s what your paper work had stated. But don’t expect it to happen so easily.”

 

“Okay. Thank you, Hunk.”

 

-+-+-+-+-

 

The clinic was a quaint room. The walls and cabinets and furniture were all a steely blue. It was cold to the touch, and whatever Lance bumped into, he shuddered, both at the sharp feeling and the lack of warmth coming from the objects before him.

 

Before taking post outside of the room, Hunk made it clear that Lance were not to address or even say a single thing to the doctor running the clinic room. The doctors yanked Lance away, and slammed the door in Hunk’s face swiftly.

 

Shoving Lance forward, the blind Omega accidentally banged his knee against the examination table, scoring a bruise on his skin.

 

The doctor, in turn, gave a curse under his breath, thinking this Omega was another waste of precious breathing air.

 

The man’s touch felt extremely uncomfortable. His fingers grazed all over Lance, searching and searching again for something that Lance wasn’t so sure was really on him. What Lance could feel, was how the doctor removing the previous bandages Lance wore. The scabbing of his previous injuries made Lance flinch with discomfort. He bit his lower lip when he felt sharp forceps remove the sharper shards of glace that remained within cuts on his feet due to the vase (did Hunk miss those?). The way this man removed those shards were not gentle at all. It was burning. It was stinging like a thousand hornets burying their stingers in every laceration. Lance could feel his head now throbbing against the pulse of the cuts he were gaining from this man. In the end, Lance could feel himself bleeding again, as though the doctor was purposely giving him more cuts than he had arrived with.

 

The dabs of disinfectants and the injections of God-knows-what made Lance beg for this to stop internally. He still kept his mouth shut, just as instructed by Hunk.

 

“As an Omega, you are to be cleaned, both internally and externally. This is not for your benefit, but for clientele benefits.”

 

The more the man droned on, the more Lance’s mind began to wander in search of happy thoughts. He thought of Zarkon. He thought of how he missed him and needed him to get him out of a place like this, even if he was just as ruthless as this doctor. He missed his Alpha’s scent, how comforting and familiar it was.

 

The only person here who showed him a shred of compassion was Hunk. Lance has had this one interaction with the staff here at Empire, yet he felt like he was being corralled and restrained like an uncultured beast.

 

Was this really how the rest of Lance’s life will look like? Get hurt repeatedly? Subject himself to the mercy of others? Was this it? The more Lance thought about it, the more he missed what his life was. He missed quite a bit of what his life was back when Zarkon had wanted him. But moreover, he missed what his life was like when he still could see and when he had his family with him. He missed it all and the more and more he thought, the more and more he found hope slipping from his grasp. The doctor took a step out of the room, muttering how his assigned caretaker will come in and that the registration process was complete, and at the mention of that, Lance could feel his head hurting again and his heart quaking with anxiety.

 

What if Hunk would not be his caretaker? Screw what Hunk said, Lance was placing whatever remained of his hope in hoping that Hunk would be with him.

 

If not…Lance didn’t want to think about it.

 

It had been a good couple of hours before the door creaked open again.

Lance shut his eyes, fearing that it was a stranger, but quickly came to terms that it was Hunk again.

 

“Good news buddy! I’ll be your caretaker!” cheered Hunk.

 

Unexpectedly, Lance got up from the exam table, wincing at his injuries, before latching on and hugging Hunk tightly.

 

The thing about hope, as Lance had put it, was that he had lost it the day he lost his sight. He forgot what it meant to have something to look forward to.

 

But now that Hunk was here, maybe he could feel it again.

 

Hunk stiffened. “Lance, before I got any further, I do have somethings I need to cover with you. These things are not exactly pleasant.”

 

Lance had let go, but gave an understanding nod to Hunk

 

“Hey, man you are the only person right here and now who has treated me like an actual person. I can survive you.”

 

“It’s not going to be easy.”

 

“I know.”

 

Giving one last quick hug, Lance cracked a smile. It was small and subtle, but it was genuine.

 

“Thank you so much, Hunk. Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo!!!  
> Ok so the first official chapter of this work!!! And I'm proud of it! I couldn't do it with out the help of my beta reader! Kudos for them!


End file.
